July 26, 2011


When you read the title of this post - can you say it just like you'd say the word "history" . . please? Thank you. Its the little things that keep our relationship alive, darling, the little things.

Anyway. I have all kinds of hilarity lined up for you darlings, but today has been an uphill battle, trust. Well, fine, not really - allow me to explain. Work has been such a bitch lately, and I'm not just talking about my boss. I mean all these deadlines and things to do by "close of business" . . . it seems as if it never ends! Furthermore, if I were to throw out some overplayed (but still relevant) rap lyric about "always hustlin'" and/or "rise(ing) & grinding," it could be stated that, in actuality, my biznass never closes (if I were C. Handler, or a fan of low-brow humor, which I'm not, I would totes throw in some "just like yo' legs" quip in there, but I'll save you, for now) - which in turn allows me to never finish a goddamn thing. Talk about job security. Anyway - I was really counting on a day of full sun, you know, a day of really potent, far-reaching ultraviolet rays - so sue me! Mama has to stay bronze. IDFK whether it was Mother Nature's fault or what, but I got . . . maybe two hours of those gloriously goldening rayz. F that.

So, needless to say I'm just in the foulest of moods. Okay, not really, but I do like using that phrase. Whenever I'm in this state of mind I like to look back and reflect . . . which is easiest to do after a quick glance of all of the exciting and world-changing events that happened on this very day in history. Or, as I like to call it, ourstory. (I do like to bring it full circle, as you well know). Before you get idealistic on me, I am certainly not looking over my shoulder (figuratively speaking, of course) to try to do something world-changing of my own or anything - not without at least three hours of sunlight and/and vitamin D, obviously.

In an effort to stay in contact with you, little one, let's all acknowledge the #1 hit on this day back in 1975, that's right - "The Hustle" - let it rock you into your Tuesday night, like I know it has many times before.

P.S. I'm pretty sure I was conceived to this song - take it or leave it. (But don't forget to thank my roommate/mother).

July 24, 2011

RPG's < Gangsta Rap

What a weekend! Full of news! I haven't decided if I'm going to be insensitive enough to spend much time with Amy Deadhouse or the roller-skating rink incident in Texas. That last one might be a bit too close to home - God knows I've spent many an afternoon with a pair of roller-skates laced up making my way around to the sweet sound of Chingy. The jury's still out on both of those.

This bullshit in Norway, however, come on. Horribly sad. So very tragic. Of course not something to be taken lightly. Apparently, some batshit manifesto written by the perp was just released and while I didn't even honor it with a quick half-ass skimming, I did notice one bullet in CNN's summary that just left a bad taste in my mouth.

The suspect, evidently, in addition to being one crazy motherfucker (among other things) is (was?) a fan of RPG's. Yes, you got it. Role. Playing. Games. Of the fantastical variety, of course. Ew! I remember back in the old days when acts of violence were immediately blamed on cop-killers and devil-worshippers -- you know, Snoop Dogg and the ICP. First of all, Snoop should never be faulted and never should have been - and I hope Mr. Broadus will accept my sincerest of apologies for trying to start a letter campaign started in order to ban him from American airwaves. (William J. Clinton, Jr. must've somehow missed my letter(s).) Anyway, Marilyn Manson and ICP are certainly to blame, but only for allowing countless mismatching teenagers to stay in their "awkward phases" and continue to wear all that weird shit - like chain wallets. Yuck! Who allows that?

Pretty sure these super-lame RPG's, coupled with being actually insane, are to blame for the crazy shit going on in our world today. Wasn't there some legislation to ban that shit? I've seen enough crime television in my day to know these games are having a terrible effect on American society and all that. I do realize, of course, that their removal from video game store shelves would force their fans to crawl out of their mother's basements and try to interact with normal people, but y'all, I think its a sacrifice we are going to have to make. For America. And for the world.

(But, to be honest, they'll most likely end up turning to local LARP-ing groups that are popping up way too fucking frequently. We can get right of them another time, baby steps for now.)

July 21, 2011

Kelly Kapowski > Michele Bachmann

So M. Bachmann released doctor's notes concerning her migraines this afternoon - or today, or whatev - I just read it. I'm getting sick of putting loose quotes around every goddamn thing with this skewed ho (both her eyesight and otherwise) so let's just assume its implied, deal? Good.

I'm sure you've all read them, because we clearly give a shit, because she's got a real chance of advancing in the 2012 Presidential Election, right? Wrong. I skimmed for a quick second and determined that I, too, put forth my fair share of very similar "doctor's notes" while I wasn't in high school because I was getting stoned. The drug use from our past can be addressed in another post, but I just want to let you know Michele . . . I read you loud and clear, homegirl. Hopefully the American public won't do too much background research on your doctor, either, just like my favorite attendance lady, Mrs. G, didn't each time my red-eyes needed an excused absence.

Anyway! Is it just me, or does all this talk of Bachmann's headaches remind you of that "Saved By The Bell" episode appropriately titled "Fatal Distraction" . . . ? Remember - Screech and Zach bug Jessie's room to find out if Kelly is going to the school dance with Zach or Slater . . . ? While Screech may have been good at hiding the fact that (according to his book) he was banging a production manager 30 years his senior (or some shit like that) while he was a lad, he fell short when hiding his surveillance equipment. I know you're all with me now, but you know, to get back at Zach, Kelly and the gang fabricate Kelly's headaches and that she gets them and gets violent and beats the fuck out of people and was in a mental hospital and all that. Yes! You do remember! And holy shit, Kelly Kapowski and M. Bachmann are surprisingly exactly alike. Except for that Kelly didn't have a lazy eye, and Michele is ugly.

IDFK about you, but I know I'm going to steer clear the next time the woman who shares a hometown with John Wayne Gacy gets a twinge of pain in her temporal lobes. No fucking thank you. I can't even imagine the pain she's going to bring to the Tan Man (that's a great fucking nickname for baby blue eyes John Boner - typo and it stays.) when she realizes he's far less batshit insane. T. Paw doesn't even stand a chance, and we're not even talking about his Presidential "bid" . . .

Any prediction on who Bachmann is taking to the school dance? Seriously? John Wayne's dead (in both cases) and God knows Zach Morris learned his lesson.

I Don't Want To Miss A Thing. (Sike.)

Aw! Hey you! How are you? This past week has been a shit show - although, I've been drawn out of hiding from the certain (financial) Armageddon quickly approaching because there is no "me" without "you." Those are loose quotes, obviously. Oh, and I also had to see the midnight premiere of Potter (with no cape, thank-you-very-much).

All of that, coupled with the fact I have a grad school  composition due and I schedule myself "sun time" for at least 4 hours a day, its been hard to get to a blogging platform - and Jesus H - trying to transform and set up this biznass on Wordpress may be the end of me. I know, none of that has anything to do with you, but I appreciate you letting me rant. So. Let's dig in.

For some time now, I've been working on two very special blog-post-drafts for you darlings. A real "Christmas In July" special (and no, those quotes were not loose) - and come to find out, my new laptop didn't save that shit! Yes, for real! I feel like I'm working on Windows Vista! (Did that geek-shout-joke work? I have no fucking idea, I just remember everyone bitching about Vista - most of which I immediately ignored.) So you'll have to hold your breaf on those two, but one involves hip-hop, bigotry and my roommate/mother - three things that are close to my heart. As soon as I get this damn paper finished - its just you & me, darling.

I have to take a second to address this whole financial "Armageddon" business and the raising of the debt ceiling. I know we've talked about the American public, and we have our complaints. I know, I know. The panic over this arbitrary August 2nd deadline is getting silly - I feel like its Y2K again! Outlandish. I'm not going to get into arguing for my homeboy Go-Bama, but I will take a moment to wish him a happy birthday week. (Happy Birthday Week! I'll be waiting at the local Chili's with a Presidente Margarita just for you in-hand.)

Anyway - I hate all this Armageddon referencing - namely because it brings to mind my last experience with Armageddon and pre-pussy (yes, I do hate that word, but its valid here) Bruce Willis. Don't get me wrong - I love a good end-of-the-world flick as much as the next middle schooler and I remember seeing it with my friends and crying horribly while shrieking (SPOILER ALERT) . . . "HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF TO SAVE BEN AFFLECK AND THE REST OF THE WORLD!" And yes, the Caps are necessary because I was screaming it on the way home in my parents' minivan. Oh the tears were epic. Just as I declared with my first viewing of "Titanic" I'm pretty sure I vowed to write a letter of thanks for film itself to the director.

July 13, 2011

Don't Be A Menace.

Alright. We've got to address a few things that have been going on lately. First and foremost, let's take a quick moment to discuss the horrible tragedy and subsequent ass-clown-ness that I've been seeing (not by choice, mind you) occurring on baseball diamonds all over our great nation. Listen, I understand. You don't even want to know the extreme actions I had to resort to in 2000 when an autographed group photo of 98 Degrees was up for grabs. Yeah, I get the obsession with taking home an irreplaceable souvenir from a really important ball game or best concert of your life. I bit someone. Don't worry, this was way before the days of communicable disease and I definitely have "Get Tested" on my to-do list. Plus, if it hasn't shown up in 12 years, lets keep our fingers crossed that I'm safe (also, Red Cross: I'll keep you posted on the status in terms of the blood I've donated.)

Anyway. I went home with that autographed picture and a quick meet & greet; but you know what else I went home with? My life. Granted I did leave a semblance of a black eye on some poor bitch but, that was part of the cut throat world of boy bands at the turn of the century. I didn't like it, but, god damn, I went through it. So . . .

July 11, 2011

"White Boy Wasted."

What up bitches! (I promise I'll only use that salutation like, at the most, 4 more times. Don't worry.) Anyway! I should have, looking back on that like, perhaps started out with something a bit more urban, hip-hop-ish and misogynistic. Maybe . . . Wuz up? Ah, it doesn't have the same effect, and where's the misogyny. I will have to think about it. We can get back into that later.

Are you darlings getting ready for the final Potter premiere? I mean, I am, but before you judge, let me explain. In order to do so, I'll have to travel way back, and we'll take a peep into my formative years - namely 2001 (give or take a year or so) . . I was finishing up high school (I'm trying not to reveal my age, even though you wouldn't believe it if I told you) and was with my very best friend taking in a movie. We'd been waiting to see "Life As A House" for some time, and attended on the opening night, naturally. our tickets, student ID cards in hand, I recall that we were eager to see the mallratz always present at our local cinema. We were jazzed, if only beacause of our infamous approach - walking arm-in-arm to clothesline those Hot Topic shareholders. When we arrived at the theater, however, we stumbled upon a horrific sight. A group of several dozen . . . wizards!

July 8, 2011

I'm not going to be able to make it . . .

Ah! Friday. Thank heavens. What a week its been at work! Don't even get me started! And in upsetting news, this week ranks almost as highest as hearing that Kevin Richardson left the Backstreet Boys (don't judge), I'm glad we've all made it through together.

The week isn't over yet, though. I'm going to try to ease you in to this next one. Picture this: I was enjoying my second cup of morning coffee (the fact that there's more Equal than java, constantly pointed out to me . . .is irrelevant) and one of my roommates was reading me the morning's headlines in her best English accent, my multi-racial child, Neville, was at my feet and the day was just beginning to swelter with the kind of humidity that will require the quick replacement of grain alcohol rather than a third cup o' joe. I know you've all been there, and, if you haven't, I advise getting knocked up as soon as possible - those morning tea cakes don't craft themselves, after all.  Anyway. Just as I was finishing the list of chores I was going to task out today, and I heard this shit. . .

July 7, 2011

An Un-bear-able Question.

You know, I'm always thinking of you. And in an effort to compensate for the lengthy last post, I was really hoping that any breaking news I encountered today would be able to be somehow blended, combined essentially to make things all the easier for you. Let's give it a go. 

Given the fact that we've all had quite a chuckle at Michelle Bachmann's mix-up of her hometown heroes with the mix-up between the birthplace of John Wayne and John Wayne Gacy (happens to us all!). This story, coupled with the following, is going to lead to one of the best "Would You Rather" games, ever. Give me a second . . .

Never From Concentrate (in way more than 140 characters).

What up bitches! I hope y'all read that greeting the right way. If not, please re-start this post imagining I'm greeting you as I enter a banging house-party "Can't Hardly Wait" style of house party, without lame ass bitches like Jennifer Love Hewitt -- or shit, wait a minute, am I that girl? Nevermind, its impossible to the that girl with walking into a room with a salutation like "What up bitches!"

Anyway. How you doing? I hope, as always, that this finds you well. I hope you've calmed down from yesterday's shocking verdict news. Jesus Christ, if you had any question as to whether or not America (in addition to having the largest prison population in the world -- just to keep the subjects in the same arena . . .) was in fact the most ridiculously reactive nation, you didn't have to look further than your favorite hoodrat's Twitter feed.  Now, before we get into all this, even though you may feel so-omg-life-endingly (too soon? no pun intended on the real, y'all!) upset at the news, I really don't give a shit whether or not you agree with the verdict, wanted to fill a glove with rocks and slap Jeff Ashton across the face; or were secretly hoping the train-wreck of a mistress Crysal Raine would be giving lap dances at a discount (and a horrible lisp) if you'd allow her to call you George Anthony. What-evs!

July 5, 2011

See you at the Crossroads (and cue up the Bone Thugz, please.)

Oh darlings! How are you! I miss everything about you. Trust me that I've been thinking about you lately. I've been meaning to blog, really, I have, and I don't quite know. The most cliche explanation (and therefore the best, of course) I can come up with now is the ever-popular "life just got in the way." Yes, I'm cringing as I type that. You're welcome.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand, which, at this very moment is sort of a mix of things, really. I suppose that's the way life is, a whole blend of this and that, and its up to us to choose what and who we pay attention to. What's worth it to us in the moment, in the long run, and so on.

Before I start catching a ton of shit for treating this like Anne Frank's "Kitty" or a personal locked diary, hollup. There's no way I'm turning into Carrie Bradshaw here, don't even fret. (Jesus Christ, the nose alone would take me years to cultivate. Scary!) All I'm trying to get across here you already know. I'm a genius - gifted with above average intelligence; and . . . well let's just get to it . . .

The Casey Anthony case is keeping me up at night! Okay, not really literally, because, let's be honest, three Tylenol PM will help anyone to sleep, but I'm really keyed up about it. (and yes, I used the word "keyed up" - it's that real-life.) I don't know if y'all have been following the story, but I have. I have a few people in my life, some of my very favorite people, who've been following it pretty closely, too. I am thankful for this because Nancy Grace is difficult as shit to get in touch with, and I'm pretty sure Lucy and John-David are to blame. We can address that later, but throughout this trial something has just . . . bothered me. Being (get ready to roll your eyes with me) socially liberal and fiscally conservative, I've always leaned and favored any and all causes championed by prosecutors nationwide. I supported the death penalty and was pro-government in the WACO (which, as my cousin informed my 7-year-old self in 1993 "WACO" stands for "what-a-cook-out . . yes, you love it.) situation but damnit, I cannot hop on the Jeff Ashton train. For the life of me, I can't saddle up. And God knows there's no reason not to. He's got a little swagger, is concise and to the point and in watching this trial I've witnessed what others have called the workings of a true "bulldog prosecutor." Now, normally, I'd be with those moustached-dimwitted fellows outside the Orange County Courthouse with my neon pink "Jeff Ashton for President" poster board. (Two points to homeboy for spelling everything correctly. You go girl!) but no matter how hard I try, how much I debate aspects of the case with my best friends, and (ir)regardless of how much I hate Jose Baez's uneven buzz cut, I'm finding myself pro-Casey.

Now, I'll say it again. Hollup. Perhaps "Pro-Casey" is not the correct term . . . I'll agree with you there. But I've spent too much time trying to put myself in the shoes of everyone involved in that trial . . well, everyone involved in the disappearance and subsequent death of Caylee Anthony. After watching and reading all I can about it (thank God I've had extra time at work this month), I genuinely believe that Caylee's death was "accidental" . . . yes, really. I put the loose quotes because I'm pretty sure Casey's guilty of negligence. By "pretty sure" I mean definitely, but I'd hate to assume anything is ever 100%. I've gone through each phase of the search, discovery and loss of Caylee. I've thought out the motivations of the Anthony's - each one of them, and yes, I've accounted for every gap in the cases of both prosecution and defense. I'm nearly positive Jose knew the whole story first, and that George and Cindy were told by Casey not too long after. I can understand (to some degree) Casey's actions, when I put myself in Casey's shoes. Not everyone is able to do this. I'm not, in any way, likening myself to Casey, we aren't the same, but I . . . can at least, to my satisfaction explain or offer an explanation for all of it. I don't need to get into my abso right assumptions (. . . trust me, I don't mean to brag but, okay - fine, we all know bragging is one of my top three favorite things - I can't help it! So sue me!) but I am worried. I share Jose's worry. And I can't decide how to feel about it. Allow me to continue.

Our entire justice system, whether or not it should be, is incredibly idealistic. I, too, am idealistic. Jose Baez and Chaney Mason are idealistic. I think you have to be to be a defense lawyer, the same can also be said for being a litigator of any kind, I don't know, I've not yet considered this. Horrible shit happens everyday to millions of people across America, and across the globe, but, just like my home girl Anne Frank detailed, its better to believe that humans are inherently good. The belief that on a very base level, we are all more similar than we are different and that we all subscribe to some moral compass, and use it to guide us for the most part. Am I too idealistic here? Is my idealism bordering on the edge of ignorance? I will argue no. I've had a fair share of crosses to bear, like we all have, and despite it all, I see no reason for cynicism. For believing in the worst. Why disappoint yourself prematurely? 
This is all a way to say, a very long way to say (I realize it). So, I'm here tonight, at the end of Independence Day giving you all a small dose of realness, without the hook nose of Carrie Bradshaw (I not only have a button nose, but I'm no where near the age of 40, thank God).

So, let's wrap this up because we both know I never fucking proofread, I'm not going to start now, and I feel like I'm rambling without getting to anything new. I'm just saying, I hope you had a jail-free Fourth of July (and Fifth of July for that matter). I hope you celebrated the hell out of freedom, George Washington and America (and looked really great doing it. I know I did.)

And yes, I'm heading up to the attic to finish my pondering. Let's all try to keep it d-l this time okay. I'm no fan of Germans.